Counting Freckles
by JackandRoryEqualsJacky
Summary: She doesn't know much, yet, but she knows that she is safer with Septimus than anywhere else in the world. He is who she loves, she thinks, and he keeps her happy at night. Isn't that enough? Isn't that enough for her to be with him?


I do not own Harry Potter, but this is my first ever (published) piece of Fanfiction. I am a close companion of the author, Anrheithwyr, who you might want to consider checking out. I also do not own 'If I Die Young' by The Band Perry (of which I stole and hid a few lines within the story).

Have you hugged a Slytherin today? No? Hug me, then!

_"It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." - Aristotle Onassis._

/\\\

Her right hand rested lightly, touching his face with cool fingers, as they both stood side by side in the parlor, neither daring to break the silence. She studied his face, his every movement, and Cedrella sighed, wishing this moment could last forever. Septimus, his red hair brighter than the sparking candles around them, held her left hand in his, cupping it tightly. She was close enough to him that Cedrella could count every freckle on his frowning face, every mark, and every single detail.

"You could stay, you know," she breathed, wishing their loving, tearful good-bye could be a joyous, triumphant hello. "Mamma does not know what she's talking about, when she speaks of you and I. She married for nobility, for wealth….we do not need that, right Septimus? We don't need riches and fancy titles, not when we have each other." Cedrella was still a young girl, foolish and naive. She still believed in happy ever afters.

He nodded, but he seemed distant, cool. Though his touch was loving and his gaze passionate, there was something in his features that implied he wished nothing but to flee. Flee from the house, flee from _her_. Cedrella blamed her mother for this. She pressed closer to him, removing her right hand from his cheek and wrapping it around the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. She wanted to keep him here, in the parlor, as long as possible.

"No one would notice if you stayed, I am sure," she said, nearly cooing, and Cedrella cringed. She sounded like her sisters, Callidora and Charis, who teased and flirted with men all of the time, knowing it was all a game; practice for their futures as wives to powerful Purebloods. Cedrella had never been like her sisters, who knew their place in the world. She was impulsive, and reckless, and in love with a blood traitor. "We could sit in the drawing room and speak for a while; I am sure I can find Mamma's best wine for us." Her eyes begged him to _please stay_, but Septimus' eyes only said _I do not want to be here_.

"You know I cannot, Cedrella. Your parents….your family…you deny it, but I know how they feel about me. I know what they think, when they look at me. _Blood traitor_, your family calls me. A disgrace. Their words hurt more than being slapped in the face, because they are the words that remain unspoken. I cannot stay with you any longer, we do not belong; you, with your pretty, Pureblood face, and me, blood traitor Weasley. It will never work, Cedrella, you know that."

"I do not care what my family thinks of me. I am in love with you-"

"Your mother will cry, Cedrella. It will be the same as burying a child far too soon. They _will _bury you, mentally, if not physically. I do not want to see you buried in a white, satin dress just yet. You have quite a life before you, do not waste such an opportunity on me."

"Mamma may bury me if she likes-send me down the river all she wants! See if I care, because I can tell you now, I do not. I care only that you are with me, Septimus. Please, do not withdraw from me. Do not move away, as if I am diseased. I love you, Septimus, and I know you love me back, even if you refuse to admit it."

"It will be a very dark future for us both," Septimus said, pulling away from her! Despiter her protests. His blue eyes took in the street outside, his brow furrowed as he watched through the window, Muggles walking by, oblivious to their plight. "You will no longer be able to call them your family, Cedrella. They will no longer accept you as their daughter." Septimus looked stricken at this thought. Family had always been one of the most important concepts to him, Cedrella knew that, but sometimes great things needed to be given up for something even better.

"I know that, Septimus," she said calmly, reaching out to grab his hand. She looked him square in the eye, forcing him to stare back at her determined face. "I _know _they will disown me; I am perfectly aware of that. But…" Cedrella turned to look out the window, out to the snowy street, the empty road. "I no longer care." She said slowly, still looking away. "I no longer am concerned with _them_, only you. Only being with the one person that makes me feel like I am doing something right. My family….life is changing, can you not tell? The Purebloods are beginning to disappear, wizards and Muggles mingling even more now."

"No one is pure anymore," Septimus whispered quietly, nodding. "Not even us so-called Purebloods, those of us who inter-mingle. And your parents, as Blacks, want you to marry the most pure person they can find-a Lestrange or a Malfoy, am I right?" She nodded, smiling grimly. "But, we are blood-traitors, Cedrella. My family, the Weasleys, we are blood-traitors, outcasts in every community."

"So?"

"Are you serious about this, Cedrella? Because…marrying me? It is forever something you will be defined by. You will never be able to return to the life you have. I am not rich, you will never be able to afford the sort of the things you have now. I need to make sure you understand _exactly _what you are getting into."

"Yes." Her blue eyes met his, both so sure of themselves as they looked at each other; two lovers on the dance floor, tempted to make the first move, but hesitant enough to wait. "Yes." She said again, and he moved in, kissing her deeply.

/\\\

_^1953^_

Looking at her son, looking at his blue eyes and his freckled face-counting every little brown spot on his arms and face-she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the wrong choice. Her third-and final, they had decided-son, she couldn't help but wonder about possibilities, roads not taken. This beautiful little boy, her Arthur. She could see him with blonde hair and cold grey eyes, or dark black hair and cruel blue or brown eyes. She could see him a cruel, vicious boy who looked down on others.

But, instead, he had bright red hair and warm blue eyes. He had a freckled face and an angelic laugh that made her want to laugh as well. Cedrella counted his freckles every night, to make sure they were there; to make sure they werent disappearing, and hevwasnt turning into a Black. Arthur placed his soft fingers on her face, a wooden block in his grubby hand, which he showed her with pride. He looked so excited, showing her the red square, and Cedrella nearly burst into tears. Since when had she earned something so tender, so beautiful?

"If I die young, Arty," she whispered to the three year old, smiling softly. "If I die young, bury me in satin." Her son looked up at her, his eyes not yet able to see the sadness in her face, the tears gently rolling down her face. "I have always loved satin. And tell your father, I have always wanted to be buried in a bed of roses, okay? Tell him that for me."

Because, after all this time, she still wasn't sure if she had made the right choice. Even holding this beautiful little boy in her arms, she wasn't sure if leaving her fears behind for a safe, warm embrace had been the smartest idea. Running away from the truth….when would it all catch up to her?

/\\\

Written for:

The Fanfiction Wizard Tournament run by the Empress Empoleon (the first round)

Using prompts: 

Song-If I Die Young by The Band Perry

Quote-_"It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." - Aristotle Onassis._

Emotion-Withdrawn

Phrase-slapped in the face

Other-Counting freckles


End file.
